01-01-2012, 10:45 AM
The universe revolved, and there was I,
until fate with its unknowable touch,
mercifully tread on my grand plan:
gouged my chest, and beat out my eyes,
using my own convictions to break me:
small minute fractures, one line per each self-lie.
The final bone splintered, the fault did crack in me;
crucifying my psyche upon a destitute tree.
A bonsai changeling, quiescent succubae,
a green-eyed blonde, lithe, long, and wan
a user of people, an abuser of drugs,
a seducer from the path of the pietistic way.
A match from Abaddon, a manifested pairing:
Narsissa-Lothario, Lilith and Adam.
A token of ruin, breach birth of decay,
a self-serving illness claiming truth was passé.
There were many within her. "We're legend," it said.
A faceted-faced female, her persona long bled,
"We deceive to survive; we're servile to deceive".
Substantiated-absorption, "Through the dead do we live."
Those demon owned eyes saw only pain did accrue,
as her mirrors were only for 3-D self-views.
A rabbit hole transport, into a myopic worldview,
for her eyes alone did its topology cue.
Extant, manipulable, objectified, commonality,
a sociopathic, depersonalized, anti-person personality.
A pleasure compass, a sensual schematized abacus,
each pathogenic inconsonance was a face of this succubus:
sharing its sickness under the facade of love.
Evil cannot exist, without accomplice:
nor subsist, if lies be bound and the truth be told,
as it is below the same on earth, the truth will hold.
Even so, universal law will not salvation toss
a line to one without eyes to see, or a mind at such loss.
--just so then: the truth!--
Only her self-absorbed suicide did free me:
paid for with fresh fleshy furrowed rows multiplied,
both limbs, the right and the left, punched my ticket to ride.
For luck, she also sliced deep, the middle of her emaciated chest.
Thus broke my will’s final resistance: blood paid freedom’s cost.
Hell's gain was mine. I never had her, to count her, as lost!
note: The drawing is by me to illustrate this poem. Since I had it, I thought I would include it.
©2011 Erthona
until fate with its unknowable touch,
mercifully tread on my grand plan:
gouged my chest, and beat out my eyes,
using my own convictions to break me:
small minute fractures, one line per each self-lie.
The final bone splintered, the fault did crack in me;
crucifying my psyche upon a destitute tree.
A bonsai changeling, quiescent succubae,
a green-eyed blonde, lithe, long, and wan
a user of people, an abuser of drugs,
a seducer from the path of the pietistic way.
A match from Abaddon, a manifested pairing:
Narsissa-Lothario, Lilith and Adam.
A token of ruin, breach birth of decay,
a self-serving illness claiming truth was passé.
There were many within her. "We're legend," it said.
A faceted-faced female, her persona long bled,
"We deceive to survive; we're servile to deceive".
Substantiated-absorption, "Through the dead do we live."
Those demon owned eyes saw only pain did accrue,
as her mirrors were only for 3-D self-views.
A rabbit hole transport, into a myopic worldview,
for her eyes alone did its topology cue.
Extant, manipulable, objectified, commonality,
a sociopathic, depersonalized, anti-person personality.
A pleasure compass, a sensual schematized abacus,
each pathogenic inconsonance was a face of this succubus:
sharing its sickness under the facade of love.
Evil cannot exist, without accomplice:
nor subsist, if lies be bound and the truth be told,
as it is below the same on earth, the truth will hold.
Even so, universal law will not salvation toss
a line to one without eyes to see, or a mind at such loss.
--just so then: the truth!--
Only her self-absorbed suicide did free me:
paid for with fresh fleshy furrowed rows multiplied,
both limbs, the right and the left, punched my ticket to ride.
For luck, she also sliced deep, the middle of her emaciated chest.
Thus broke my will’s final resistance: blood paid freedom’s cost.
Hell's gain was mine. I never had her, to count her, as lost!
note: The drawing is by me to illustrate this poem. Since I had it, I thought I would include it.
©2011 Erthona
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.